


you give me miles and miles of mountains (and i'll ask for the sea)

by left_uncovered



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Codependency, M/M, Pining, Pity Sex, Post-Canon, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 01:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11429901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_uncovered/pseuds/left_uncovered
Summary: It scares Jeremy sometimes, the things Michael does for him.(Michael is in love with Jeremy. Jeremy just wishes loving and being in love were the same thing.)





	you give me miles and miles of mountains (and i'll ask for the sea)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Volcano](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZduDvIBu3EU) by Damien Rice, which doubles as recommended listening for this fic.
> 
> Read the tags.

His mom had given him many reasons when she left for Massachusetts when he was sixteen. Job offer at the law firm, need to take care of her ailing sister, be closer to her family. To her boyfriend. It’s not that she didn’t want to be here, she’d said, kissing his cheek. It was that she needed to be there. After all, those were the only real reasons people left. He’d watched her drive off from his bedroom window, dull resentment bubbling in him, but he guesses he’s a hypocrite, because six years later, he’s hauling his things up to his shoebox apartment in Crown Heights, wondering which of the two he’s supposed to be.

He’d always thought Metuchen was too small, the itchy feeling inside him growing through his adolescence. By the time he graduated, he was more than ready to run off with Michael to Rutgers, to a world of ramen diets and all-nighters and hotboxing in their dorm room. To somewhere that wasn’t here. Except that wasn’t even running away, really, when they could drive twenty minutes north right back home. He didn’t think Michael cared where they were, so long as they were together, so in the lazy days between their last class and their college graduation, he’d said, “We should go to New York,” and Michael had just shrugged and said, “All right”. So here they are, standing on the curb among their fleet of boxes, blinking against the glare of the June sun. He has a job lined up here, and Michael does, too, but he wonders – if he’d said Chicago or San Francisco or DC instead, would Michael have still gone?

It scares Jeremy sometimes, the things Michael does for him.

*

The funny thing is, he didn’t even realize it until college.

There was no grand moment of revelation, no drunken confession or come-on, and there hasn’t been one since. He just looked one day, late at night, when they’d both been dizzy with exhaustion from finals, and he’d seen it and known. He wasn’t sure what it was about Michael’s face that gave it away; what bothered him more was that he didn’t seem to care about keeping it hidden. Had he always looked at Jeremy like that? Why did he never realize?

He summoned his memories of Michael and worked backwards. Senior year, junior year, before the SQUIP, middle school. It was hard to filter through it all; Michael was there in every frame, inescapable.

He wondered if he should say something, but Michael caught him staring first – must have read the truth of it in the upset twist of his mouth – and spared him the trouble.

“About time,” he said, before getting back to his book.

Jeremy excused himself and went to throw up in the bathroom. Michael found him there several minutes later, with his fingers white knuckled around the toilet seat. He rubbed his back and brought him water while he heaved, thinking all the while, _why me, why me, why me_.

*

He asked Michael once, when he was cross faded and feeling too brave, if he wanted to talk about it.

Michael had just snorted, and plucked the joint from between his fingertips.

“Will it make a difference?” he said.

His face was very close, but his eyes were downcast, lashes against his cheeks.

“I mean, it could give you closure or something,” Jeremy tried, and even as it left his lips, he knew it was a weak excuse. But he wanted to give Michael something, _anything,_ because it just wasn’t _fair_ –

Michael laughed and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

*

He’s there the first time Jeremy kisses a guy. They’re at a party – their first college party – and he’s already tipsy and looking to lose his gay kiss virginity.

“Your gay kiss virginity?” Michael said, looking incredulous. He wasn’t drunk. He didn’t really drink except with friends, was only here because Jeremy didn’t want to go alone.

“You know what I mean,” he whined over the thump of the bass. Michael rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Jeremy said. “You should pick someone for me.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You’re always going on about how bad my taste in guys is, so you should pick someone for me.”

Michael ended up picking Tom from their art history class: blonde, built, taller than Jeremy.

Tom was game. He’d – as Michael had pointed out – been making eyes at Jeremy for weeks now. He pressed Jeremy against the wall and Jeremy had pushed up on his toes to kiss his mouth. The feeling of stubble against his cheek was foreign, and he wasn’t sure where to put his hands, but it wasn’t bad. Tom got a hand on his ass and pulled their hips together, and they just ground against each other for a while, until Jeremy decided he probably didn’t want to come in his pants while drunk at a party.

He pulled away and went to look for Michael, who he found on the porch, checking his messages.

“Hey,” he said, shouldering him lightly. He swayed a little, but Michael didn’t look up from his phone.

“You get what you came for?” he asked.

“Yep.” His half-hard dick was proof enough of that. “Can we go home now?”

Michael finished whatever he was doing on his phone and looked up at him. His lips twisted into a poor imitation of a smile.

“Yeah. Come on.”

*

Michael drove them back to their apartment, a half-hour ride through the city. All the while, Jeremy felt his buzz dying, slowly melting away into a headache. He leaned his head against the window, then pulled it away when the thrumming of the car only made it hurt worse. An unfamiliar song played over the stereo, turned down so low he had to strain to hear the words.

Michael was silent in the driver’s seat, jaw working.

He closed his eyes, but the city lights still blared through his eyelids. Whatever. Better the brightness than this.

“Sorry,” he said eventually, when the silence became too much.

“For what?”

He hated that tone, hated how Michael’s false indifference was practically _begging_ for a response.

“You know,” he said.

A beat. Another. It’s still bright, and the stereo is still singing, this time some 2000’s era plaintive rock. _And anything to make you smile, it is a better side of you to admire._

“I like this song,” Michael said, fingers tapping on the wheel. “It’s soothing.”

*

He climbed into Michael’s bed that night. It was stupid, and he knew he was only making it worse, but his head hurt and he was tired, and Michael’s sheets were always warmer and softer than his. He’d flinched but let Jeremy settle against him, against the heartbeat racing through his chest.

*

It isn’t even that he doesn’t like guys. He _loves_ guys. He loves girls, too, but being straight isn’t the problem. He wishes he knew what the problem even was. He wishes he could fix it.

*

He’s careful not to bring people back to their apartment when Michael’s around, but it’s hard with his shifting crunch time work schedule, and he sometimes messes up.

The first time it’d happened, she was leaving just as Michael was arriving. He’d been distracted at first – focused on balancing the takeout for two (because he knew Jeremy sometimes stayed up too late and forgot to feed himself) in one arm and his books in the other, calling out, “I brought Chinese from that place you like, Jer!” – so they’d seen him before he’d seen them.

She was a friend from work. Jeremy knew better than to shit where he eats, but it’d been late and they’d been alone and they’d both been kind of horny (he thought his sex drive would’ve settled by the end of high school, but it never did) and one thing led to another, and now here they were.

“Oh,” Michael said when he finally saw them. His eyes focused on the bruise high on Jeremy’s neck before flickering away. “Sorry, I’ll just…” He pushed past them, making a beeline for his room before shutting the door loudly.

Jeremy kissed her on the cheek and walked her out. Then he googled _how to cover up hickey_.

They never did eat the takeout.

*

He thinks Michael hooks up less than him, but he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s _actually_ getting laid less, or if he’s just more discrete about it. The one and only time he’d caught him had been when he came home early from visiting his dad, and saw some guy chilling shirtless on their couch. The guy looked up, and Jeremy sucked in a breath, because it was like looking into a mirror: same blue eyes and brown hair, same angular face and sharp nose.

“Whoa,” the guy said. Then, “Oh shit, are you his boyfriend? Dude, I didn’t know, I swear –”

Jeremy gave him a small smile. “Nah, just his roommate. Don’t worry about it.”

Then Michael came out of his room, still shirtless. He saw Jeremy first, and his eyes darted between him and the guy on the couch. Back and forth, back and forth, for several painful seconds.

“Jesus Christ,” the guy said.

Jeremy went back to his room before either of them could say anything else.

It was getting harder and harder to keep count of the times he’d been mistaken for Michael’s boyfriend. He didn’t know why he still kept track. He figured, counting Michael’s actual boyfriends was probably easier. It didn’t even require any hands.

*

Most of the time, it’s fine. Most of the time, they’re laughing and sitting down at breakfast together, or playing video games or swapping work stories. Most of the time, he hardly ever thinks about it. But some nights, it’s hard to ignore the guilt clawing at his insides, the refrain of _why me why me why me_. He remembers all those times Michael’s told him his taste in guys is terrible, and he’d been tempted to shoot back, _well yours is worse_.

He doesn’t understand, because there’s never really been anything special about him. He’d always been aggressively average, never the fastest runner on the playground or the smartest kid in class. Not the slowest or stupidest, either, but at least those people had the dubious honor of being the most _something_. Sometimes, he doesn’t even feel like a person, like everything about him is a composite of a thousand real others.

*

He takes Michael out to some fancy four-star in Times Square when he turns twenty-five. The food is rich and the wine is oaky and every time Michael smiles at him across the table, he feels the knot in his chest loosen. He knows what they must look like to the other people here, two guys dressed up and grinning at each other over their fancy entrées. He wishes it were true.

He won’t let Michael see the bill when it comes, because he knows he’ll just dig himself into a pit of guilt about it if he knew how large a dent it put in his paycheck.

They joke on the D train home about how old Michael’s gotten, how he’s already halfway to thirty, measuring out their lives in the number of years passed. Three since college. Nine since the SQUIP. Twenty-one since they met. Their friendship can now drink legally. That’s gotta be a milestone of some sort.

They were planning on video games when they got home, but it’s the end of the week, and they’re both too tired, so they end up re-watching old cartoons instead. They switch off the lights and curl up in Jeremy’s bed with his laptop and the softest blankets in their closet, just like old times. Michael is a comforting line of warmth where he’s pressed against him; he’s always been too skinny to trap heat well, but Michael is like a furnace.

It’s nice, he thinks. If only it were real.

An hour into their marathon, he turns to Michael and asks, “Are you happy?”

“What?” Michael looks confused.

“I mean, you _are_ halfway through your 20’s. I know there’s all that stuff you wanted to do by 30,” he explains. “So are you?”

Michael shrugs. “I have everything I want.”

He aches. And then the resolve in him grows.

He pauses the video.

“Hey!” Michael starts spluttering, but freezes when he turns to look at Jeremy.

“Not everything,” he says.

He only has one shot at this. He has to get it right. He stills his shaking hands, tips Michael’s chin up, and leans in.

Michael pulls away, falling back on his hands before their lips can connect.

“What the hell, Jer!” he says, furious. “What are you _doing_?”

Jeremy swallows. “You said you have everything you want. But that’s not true.”

Michael lets out a hysterical laugh. “Jesus Christ, it’s not like sleeping with you was on my Before 25 bucket list.”

“Think of it as a birthday present.” He regrets saying it before he even finishes the sentence. Michael looks disgusted with him.

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better. You know what, just –” he tosses the blankets aside. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for dinner.”

Jeremy catches his wrist before he can get up. “I’m sorry, okay? That’s not what I meant. Just.” Swallow. “I want to do this for you.”

Michael rubs his eyes underneath his glasses and says flatly, “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you had to do this. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No!” Jeremy says. “You never – it’s not like that. I want to. I want to give this to you.”

“As a _birthday present_?”

He hides his face in hands. “No. Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. Just…in general? I mean, I like you way more than half the people I sleep with anyway…”

Michael winces.

“Shit. Sorry. Just. It’s okay, if you don’t want to – obviously! – but I do. And we don’t have to talk about it. At all.” _Just like we’ve never talked about it before._

Michael doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t try to leave again, either. And then he slowly turns and starts leaning in, and Jeremy meets him the rest of the way.

They tumble together in the moonlight-soaked sheets. Michael had barely been kissing back at first, but now he seems hungry for it. Jeremy’s never been kissed this thoroughly in his life.

It’s over so quickly that they don’t even manage to get any clothes off. Michael just gets a hand in his boxers and strokes him until he’s crying out against his mouth, and once he’s come down from it, Michael rubs off against him and comes in his pants. He collapses next to Jeremy, who burrows in against him.

“Happy birthday to me,” he says, but there’s no humor behind it.

Jeremy just closes his eyes.

*

He wakes in the middle of the night to Michael’s lips on his face, light against his forehead. He kisses his temple, then the bridge of his nose, then trails down to his cheekbones, the corner of his mouth. It’s so gentle it hurts. He can feel Michael’s breath against his lips, and thinks _just do it just do it just do it already._

“I know you’re awake, Jeremy,” he says.

He keeps his eyes shut and slows his breathing.

Michael sighs, and then there’s the sound of the sheets rustling and his legs swinging off the side of the bed, feet hitting the floor, padding across the room, door opening and clicking shut. Too much quiet.

He lies there staring at the ceiling until pale blue light starts slicing through the blinds, wondering what Michael is thinking on the other side of the wall.

*

He wonders what’s wrong with him, what subconscious part of his brain thinks he’s above loving Michael back. It would be so easy. They've known each other all their lives. They trust each other more than anyone else. They love each other more than anyone else. It wouldn't have to be anything big or scary or crazy like the movies – just what they already have, but more. _It would be so easy._

He just wishes loving and being in love were the same thing. He thinks Michael probably does, too.

*

It scares him, sometimes, the things they do to each other. The things they do for each other.

**Author's Note:**

> The song playing in the car on the drive home from the party is [No One's Gonna Love You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lnkzfUaDOY) by Band of Horses. You should listen to it because it is soul-destroying.
> 
> This happened because of actualbird's talk about Kyle/Jimmy from Smash and [this quote](https://left-uncovered.tumblr.com/post/162704775732/so-thanks-to-actualbirds-talk-about-kyle-and) from Jeremy Jordan.
> 
> I wanted to try writing something in a different-ish style for once. This type of fic doesn't come naturally to me, so any kind of feedback about it will be doubly appreciated. Thanks for reading.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr.](https://softfists.tumblr.com)


End file.
